The Way It Was Before
by CheeriosAreSquare
Summary: Brock catches Reba about to run away and instead of stopping her, he follows. Why? Find out...
1. Where We Are Now

Where We Are Now

Dark and desolate. That's what the empty road had felt like to Brock Hart.

"Reba." He could barely muster out a whisper as the redhead turned to face him, her head pressed against the window of the car. Her eyes were catching what little glimpses of lights passed by and finally she replied.

"Do you want me to drive?" Through the corner of her eyes, she could see Brock's shoulders heave in muted frustration.

"Reba," He sighed out again, "Are you okay?"

She didn't say anything, just turning to look at him momentarily.

"Brock-" She finally spoke up, sounding a bit more concerned than she would have liked.

"Reba," He soothingly whispered, gripping the steering wheel a little more tighter, "It's fine. We'll take care of this."

She was laughing, staring at the back of her hands resting on her lap, listening to the static of the radio as Brock drove faster and faster as the sky grew darker. Then she stopped laughing, her face solemn and resolute. And through the corner of his eyes, Brock watched as Reba pressed her forehead right up against the window. What piece of pavement that was quickly left behind the car could have easily been Houston, even though they had been driving for what had seemed like hours.

"Where are we going?" Reba finally uttered out. And Brock started to laugh, so surprised to hear the first complete questioned Reba had asked having nothing to do with turning back to Houston.

"I don't know, sweetheart," He reached out one hand as her fingers interlaced with his and as he drove on, he could feel her tighten her grip as they held hands over the armrest compartment of the car.

"Brock"?"

"Hmm?" He tilted his face towards her direction.

"Just drive." Because at this point, there was no point in turning back. And Brock pretended not to hear her voice crack when she added, "_Please_."

* * *

"Honey?" Reba could smell a whiff of his cologne as she felt his arm loop around her shoulders. Her eyes blinked open and there was Brock, giving her a wary and familiar smile.

"Where are we? What time is it?" She sat up straight, rubbing her eyes and fighting the urge to tell Brock to drive them both back home.

"Shh, let's get something to eat," Brock cupped her cheeks, looking straight into her eyes, "...Okay?"

Reba nodded as Brock's hands gently slipped around the back of her neck and kissed her fiercely on the top of her forehead.

The two of them walked into the diner, immediately met with the cacophony of sounds and the brightness of glaring lights. Brock held up two fingers to a listless server, who walked them to a booth near the back of the diner. As the waitress left, Brock stood for a moment to watch as Reba slid into her seat next to the windows. Wordlessly, he took his own seat as Reba shielded her own face from his with a colorful menu.

He jolted in surprise when she laid the menu flat against the table, her blue eyes boring into his.

"Why did you come with me?" She exasperatedly exclaimed, flinching as Brock reached to hold her hand.

"Why did you wanna leave?" Brock asked back, as gently as he could ask a question.

Reba shot Brock a dirty look but both were equally relieved when the waitress came to take their order.

* * *

They were crossing over some small bridge when Brock looked over to Reba with a chuckle.

"Hey Reba, remember when the kids were little? Whenever we'd go over a bridge, Cheyenne and Kyra would battle it out to see who could scream the longest?" Brock was surprised to see Reba nodding her head in the memories of their little girls, smiling the biggest smile he had seen all day from her.

"And they would whistle as loud as they could each time we went through a tunnel?" Reba added as Brock laughed out loud. And as the laughs faded, the awkward silence filled the car. Minutes passed before Reba finally broke the silence.

"There was no reason." Brock turned to Reba,sitting in the passenger seat and looking a bit abashed. But Brock didn't have the guts to confront her blatant lie, "I'm fine."

Reba closed her eyes, trying to sleep or trying to pretend to sleep, as a million thoughts ran through Brock's mind.

Why was Reba Hart, the strongest and bravest woman he knew, acting this way? What could have possibly happened so that Reba would abandon her family, her job, their beautiful granddaughter?

Brock glanced over at her as Elvis crooned "Are You Lonesome Tonight" on the radio, trying too hard not to stop the car and hold her in his arms.

He didn't even take time to process how he had ended up where he was now, in the driver's seat of Reba's car. How he was driving somewhere along the Texan borders looking for a cheap motel to stay the night. It had all happened so fast. He had happened to walk into Reba's room at the right time -or the wrong time.

_"Get out." Reba was livid, pointing at her bedroom door, as Brock continued to walk toward her.  
_

_"Reba." He furrowed his brows in confusion,"What are you doing?"  
_

_"None of your business," She quipped, something she had done so well after years of practice. _

_"Why are you packing?" Brock glanced around the room as his hands grabbed her wrists._

_"Brock." Reba closed her eyes and he could see how red they were after she opened them again. He released her wrists as she violently stepped backward._

_"What's going on?"_

_"Brock, I-" She couldn't continue, her hand resting over her heart as Brock quickly wrapped his arms around her._

_"Shhhh, what's the matter?"_

_"Brock, I-I just," Reba had started hiccuping as her arms feebly wrapped around Brock, "I just want to go home."_

_"You are home!" Brock laughed out incredulously as Reba continued to sob violently in his arms, "Shhh, you mean back home to Oklahoma, honey?"_

_When he could feel her bobbing her head in agreement, he too nodded his own head. Brock was too surprised at his own leap to action, so calm and so certain of what he was doing and saying. It didn't matter what had happened before and it certainly didn't matter that this had never happened before. All he cared about was Reba, Reba who was sobbing in his arms and packing a suitcase to go home to her parents._

_"I'll go with you."_

_"Brock-" She tried to push away from him.  
_

_"I'll go with you." He repeated._

"Thank you." Reba's voice broke the silence, eyes intently resting on Brock. There was never really anything Brock could do to solve her problems, but boy did it always help to have him there.

**A/N: Heeeey. It's been a while! Anyways, I wanted to try something different and if this is coming off as melodramatic, please do tell. Thank you so much for reading and please leave a review! Breba forever. **


	2. Chapter 2

"Reba," Brock could feel Reba's arms tighten around his neck as soon as fumbled for the light switch in the dark motel room, "We can't-"

"Please." She was desperately trying to reach out for the light switch as Brock heaved a heavy sigh. Reba's face was now centimeters away from his own, her big blue eyes were teary when she hoarsely whispered, "Brock, I _need_ this."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again as his eyes never strayed from Reba's.

"Okay." The word escaped his mouth as he reached to cup her cheeks in his hand, placing his other hand around her neck to gently pull her closer to him. She certainly didn't smell like she had been drinking any alcohol, Brock pondered as his lips were pressed against the top of her forehead. It scared him to see how...scared she was. What was going on? And why did he keep telling her: "It's gonna be okay?"

Brock let a little distance form between the two of them when he noticed Reba fidgeting with the lower hem of his t-shirt.

"Reba, I can't do this to Barbra Jean," His throat was dry, mind jumping between the breathtaking kisses he just shared with the woman in front of him and the wife he only thought of at that moment.

To his surprise, the redhead just started crying. Tears were streaming down her face as she quickly disattached herself from him. Reba plopped on the queen sized bed as Brock quickly sat next to her.

"Hey, hey, hey" He soothingly murmured, "Don't cry."

Reba patted his knee dejectedly, lifting her face for a brief and momentary smile at her ex-husband.

"Is this what you really want?" Brock languidly asked, as if it were an afterthought.

"Why are you asking me, you mo-ron," Reba blinked back some tears, drawing her legs up onto the bed, "You're the one whose married to Barbra Jean."

The two of them sat in silence for a while. But Brock couldn't keep his eyes off of her, staring off into the distance with something on her mind. When Reba turned lock eyes with him, the demure expression on her face caught him off guard and he looked back down at his hands.

"Reba, I-" His throat felt dry. Something felt wrong.

Something was completely wrong.

So instead Brock Hart wrapped his arms around Reba and pulled her close to him, kissing her hard on the mouth.

Brock could feel Reba melting in his arms and he himself was struggling with the electric shock of her kisses. Reba's arms, previously trapped against his chest, found its way around his neck and very slowly, Brock could feel her fingers running through his hair. By the time their lips had parted, the two of them had found a very comfortable position on the bed. Reba took a gulp as she locked eyes with Brock, wondering whether or not to smile because she was so happy to be there with him. Shivers went down her spine when Brock patted her hip with his hand, despite his other arm already wrapped around Reba's waist.

"Hey, what's goin' on?" He whispered as Reba closed her eyes tight, only prompting her ex-husband to hold her closer. She wriggled out of his grip to walk next to the door as Brock protested as he sat up, "What are you-"

Reba flicked off the lights and as Brock's eyes were adjusting to the darkness, he could see Reba stripping out of her blouse and jeans and all of a sudden was in front of him.

"Brock," She had her arms around his neck and beads of sweat were forming across his forehead as his fingers hovered over her skin. Her whispers were filled with a tone of desperation "I need it to be like the way it was before."

"Reba-" He started to protest before she continued on. Reba lowered herself against him so that she was face to face with him, resting her elbows on his shoulders.

"Forget about _her_ for a while, please." Reba said, even though the both of them knew that Reba was the one who probably could not.

"Reba, I don't want you to do something you're gonna regret," He inhaled the smell of her, reassuring him that he wasn't going to be the one left with any regrets if anything were to happen in that old motel room. And so he caved. He kissed her and kissed her over and over again.

* * *

Reba rested her head on the front of his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his torso. As a response, Brock wrapped his arms around her. And in the darkness, Brock couldn't pretend that it was silent. He could hear Reba crying and could feel her body shake with each sob as he began to rub her arm.

"Dang-nab it Brock!" Reba turned her look at Brock, "Why didn't you just let me go?"

He kept silent, unsure whether his words would make her angry or make him lose his patience with her.

"Brock, I left because I couldn't take it anymore." Reba rolled her eyes, running a hand through her red hair.

"Couldn't take what anymore?" He mumbled as Reba glared at him, incredulous.

"Because I'm still in love with you, you jackass!" She immediately wrapped her arms around her knees as Brock struggled to find a reply to that, "I can't stand you coming over to my house with your new wife, I can't stand the way you come over to my house and act like it's still yours. I don't know why-"

"Reba, look at me," Brock felt his heart beat faster as Reba began to lose her cool faster and faster. He had only seen her this upset, to put lightly, one time that they had ever known each other. The last big fight, "Look at me!"

"Leave me alone!" She pushed away his hands, trying to leap off the bed, "Look, I lost control. This shoulda never happened. I'm sorry."

"Reba, what the hell are you talking about?" Brock hissed, holding a steady grip on her waist.

"I need to use the bathroom!" She finally shouted out, grabbing the clothes that were strewn on an upholstered chair. She paused for a moment, placing a hand over her lower abdomen and wincing in pain, before she glared at Brock and strutted to the bathroom.

When the bathroom door slammed shut with a bang, Brock flippantly groaned out loud. Searching for a television remote control on the stand next to his bed. He couldn't afford to think about this now. When he at last settled on some sports channel, Brock's attention was suddenly drawn to his ringing phone.

"Shit," He muttered out, too many concerns already than to deal with his separated wife's name appearing on the caller ID.

"Brock, where's Reba!" Barbra Jean sounded hysterical.

"Calm down," He rubbed his temple and instinctively glanced at the bathroom door and the glow of the lights coming from the crack beneath, "I'm driving her to Oklahoma, she wanted to see her parents."

"I see. And when were you planning on telling me or the kids about this little road trip?" Barbra Jean's annoyance at him made Brock even more annoyed at her.

"Barbra Jean-" He was too tired to argue back with her, and frankly he felt too guilty seeing that he was lying in bed after making love to his ex-wife.

"Where are you now?"

"We're at a gas station." Brock muted the television a little too late but his lying was still okay, as he kept his eyes on the bathroom, "Reba needed to use to the restroom."

"I see."

"Yeah."

"'Kay. Well, good night."

He paused for a moment.

"Henry?"

"Sleeping."

"Alright. Bye."

She hung up without another word and Brock turned up the television, resting one hand behind the back of his head. He took another glance at the bathroom. Reba was taking an awfully long time, he thought but too soon he distracted himself with some sports broadcast.

"Brock." The pounding on the wooden door jolted Brock awake and his eyes immediately squinted in response to the bright light of the television as he fumbled for the remote control where Reba should have been sleeping, "Brock!"

The pounding on the door became harsher, louder.

"Honey, what's wrong?" He slipped his T-shirt over his head, turning his head every few seconds to the bathroom.

"Brock I need you to drive me to the hospital."

**A/N: Okay, I know I'm not explaining a lot right now but stuff's coming up. And warning, it might be sensitive content so please be warned. Thank you for reading and I do hope you leave a review! **


	3. Chapter 3

"Mr. Hart, you can see Mrs. Hart now." Brock Hart looked up at the wary nurse standing in front of him, rubbing his palms together as he jumped out of the plastic chairs. He sprinted down the hall to her room, having paced too many times in front of it. The whole day had felt completely too long. Following Reba without question, sleeping with Reba without another thought, and then watching her suffer with plenty of questions and thoughts.

"Reba-" He breathlessly meandered to her side as fresh tears streamed from her eyes. She was sitting up on the bed, the freckles on her face seeming more obvious against the drab white hospital gown. Yet she looked so...dead. The florescent lights seemed to drain the color from her face and hair.

" I lost it."Reba's voice was so weak, so tired.

"Miscarriage?" Brock looked down at his feet as he whispered out the words he had dreaded to hear. He had opened the bathroom door to see Reba crouched on the linoleum floor, bleeding and crying out in pain. He glanced at the dried blood stains on the t-shirt that he hadn't had a chance to change out of.

_"The baby, the baby!"_ She had been cried out as Brock sputtered out the two syllable word as if it were a term he had never heard before.

He was too worried for Reba's health to be asking her questions when he drove her to the hospital like a madman. But as he had sat in the waiting room for hours on end, he had plenty of time to think.

"Whose was it?" That was the first thing he could ask, wishing his voice wasn't so bitter. He reworded himself, "I mean, who was the uh father?"

"I don't know." Her voice was so dry but her eyes were so damp.

"What do you mean you don't know?!" Brock shouted, "Reba what the hell is going on here?"

"He hasn't talked to me since I told him." Reba sighed, then added in an unnaturally casual tone, "His wife told me to 'get rid of it.'"

"_His wife_?" Brock incredulously looked at his ex-wife, looking as if she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, "What the hell is going on? Reba, how long have you been seein' this guy?"

"Brock-," She gritted through her teeth, trying to establish some image of energy but evidently failing.

"No Reba, you gotta give me some answers," Brock placed one hand on his hip, pacing the length of her bed, "Without ANY explanation, you decided you wanted to run away from our kids and from me and then, and then, you just..."

In frustration, Brock let out a guttural sound, clenching and unclenching his fists. He was having a hard time comprehending everything that had happened in the last twenty four hours. Taking advantage of Brock's paused interrogation, Reba needed to soothe her own emotions.

"Look, it doesn't matter anymore!" Reba sobbed out, unable to face the complete void in her body as she protectively placed her hands over her stomach.

"It does matter! How far along were you?" Brock refused to look at her, his voice raising in volume as his frustration grew. He ran over to the counter and in one swooping manner, pushed everything that was once on the table on to the floor, "WHOSE THE FUCKING FATHER?"

"Brock!" Reba flinched as a jar filled with cotton balls shattered as it hit the floor.

"And then you slept with me," Brock incredulously continued, the destruction of his surroundings not seeming to wake him from his trance but seeming to enliven him, "Were you going to LIE TO ME, REBA?"

"Brock, please stop," Reba breathed heavily, blinking quickly and heaving for air as she watched Brock slump his shoulders. Her whole body was aching. Despite the seemingly reversed roles she was having with her ex-husband, she felt no desire to bicker with him. Reba wanted Brock to hold her.

"Reba, none of this makes sense!" Brock collapsed into a chair next to her bed, running the palm of his hands across his face.

"I'm sorry." The words tickled her hoarse throat. Reba fiddled with the IV cord as she watched Brock fidget in nervousness. He took a deep breath before walking over to sit at the edge of her bed. He took a deep breath before he cradled her right hand with his.

"You scared me, honey," Brock calmly but intently looked into Reba's eyes, "You told me you still loved me last night and..."

"And?" Reba croaked out.

"Nothing, it's stupid." Brock shook his head, before he had to say it out loud, continuing where he had left off, "Well I... I love you so much."

Reba didn't reply, instead she just let him lean forward and kiss her on the forehead. It seemed as if she had waited all these years, daydreaming about the moment he would say those words to her again and instead of the immense joy she had imagined, all she felt was pain.

"I'm sorry I snapped, I was just frustrated and Reba, and _you know_ I'm always here for _you_, for our kids, for- " His face was just hovering inches in front of her own tearful face and Reba could feel Brock's hands running down the length of her arm until he suddenly stopped, just stoically saying aloud, "Reba, we just lost our son."

By the time the nurses came back in, Reba wasn't the only one crying in that hospital room.

* * *

_Summer 1999_

"Mr. Hart, Mrs. Hart," The doctor looked from Brock to Reba before gravely continuing with a message he had delivered one time too many, "I'm very sorry to inform-"

"No, you don't have to tell me." Reba shut her eyes tightly, already knowing the answer. Brock heaved a sigh, momentarily wrapping his arm around Reba's shoulders. It was so sudden. Brock thought he would rather have been sitting there with some glimmer of hope for Reba and his child. Their little boy. Brock glanced up at the ceiling, fiddling his thumbs, refusing to acknowledge the absolute pain his wife was in.

Soon the doctor's explanations turned into nonsensical sounds to Reba's ears. All she could do was clench her fists so tightly so that the nails dug into her palms as she tried her hardest not to cry.

"I'll leave you two for now. Remember to schedule another appointment with the nurse when you leave. My deepest condolences." The doctor sounded like he was reading off a script he had memorized as Reba could finally express the feeling of a shattered heart as she cried out loud. What was she expected to do now? Go on and live her life as it was before?

"Brock!" She sobbed, her forehead on her husband's shoulder as he sat in silence, dejectedly staring off into the distance. He hadn't spoken a word ever since he had gotten to the hospital.

"Reba," He suddenly interjected, then softened his tone, "I'm going to go get a drink."

Reba nodded her head up and down, suddenly feeling nauseous when Brock stood up. His expression changed several times, trying so hard to communicate with her.

"Do you want anything?" That was all that could come out of his mouth.

"No." She mouthed. Instead, she sat there in the hospital room for what seemed like hours. So she stood up and walked out the door. There was Brock, standing in front of a vending machine in the waiting room. Hands in his pockets, Brock jolted in surprise when Reba stopped and stood next to him.

"I think I'll just get a water bottle," He scratched the back of his head and then stuck his hands into his pockets for some quarters.

"Brock," Reba folded her arms over her chest, doing so well at tugging her husband's heartstrings as she tearfully continued, "Brock, say something."

"I'm sorry." He opened his mouth and closed it again, turning away from her face swiftly so that she would not see the sadness in his eyes. The way he had said his apology, Reba could not tell whether he was sorry for them, sorry for her, or was simply blaming himself. Quickly, he diverged upon the situation by dropping quarters into the slots as Reba looked down at her feet.

At that moment, Reba was made aware of another heartbreaking fact. Nothing was going to be the way it was before.

**A/N: ALRIGHT. It was super hard writing this chapter and by all means, if something is just...wrong, then do tell me via reviews or a PM. I'm still testing out how I'm going to develop this story (format wise/plot wise) but thanks so much for reading. Please leave a review and once again, if this work of fiction is offensive in any way, do tell.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

_1999_

"Honey, we're home." Reba gave Brock a blank stare as he stood with one hand on the car door he had opened for her and one hand reaching out for hers. She didn't reply except for a long and steady stare at her husband.

"Hey," He opened his arms instead, waiting to wrap his arms around her, "Come here, sweetheart."

"Brock-" Reba cried out as he held her tighter to him.

He didn't reply; he had no idea what to say. Instead he just held her as close as he could to him.

"What do we tell the kids?" She dabbed at the tears at the corner of her eyes as Brock scowled at the murky gray skies. He let out a heavy sigh as his arms dropped from around her back to around her waist.

"We're in this together," He had never seen this much tears after almost two decades with this woman, "I'm right here. Always."

"Okay, let's go." Reba's head bobbed up and down quickly as she looked down at the pavement, clenching her fists. In silence, they walked up to the front door of their house when she started to whisper in muted desperation, "Brock, I can't tell the kids. I can't tell them."

"It'll be alright." He reassured her on their front porch. He knew all too well that she did not want to say it out loud, didn't want to confirm the state of change. Brock pulled out his keys from his pocket as Reba took a moment to bury her face against the fabric of his jacket. As quickly as he had inserted the key into the lock, the door swung open as Cheyenne stood in front of her parents. She was still in her pajamas, the

"Mom," She tucked a hair behind her ear as she looked from mother to father, "Dad, what happened?"

"Let's get into the house first." Brock proclaimed, watching his fifteen year old hug her mother, "Cheyenne, honey, where's your-where's Kyra and Jake?"

"They're upstairs sleeping," She pulled away from her mother so that they could walk into their house, hand in hand.

"Can you go on and walk 'em up, sweetie?" Brock sat down on the armrest of one of the chairs, scratching the back of his head.

"Mom?" Cheyenne looked to her mother, who only lowered her head.

"Brock, we don't have to, wait 'til they wake up." Reba leaned against the handrail of the stairs, listlessly staring into the distance before she slowly walked up the stairs.

"Dad?" Cheyenne hesitated, not knowing whether to follow her mother up the stairs or get some answers from her father, "Wait! Meemaw and Grandma called, they said-"

But Reba wasn't listening Instead, she kept on walking up the stairs.

"Cheyenne, let your mom get some rest," He motioned for his daughter to come join him in the living room. She was old enough to put two and two together but Brock was sure Reba would have wanted all the kids to find out at the same time.

"Daddy-"

"Sweetie, your mom needs to get some rest right now, alright?" Brock reiterated, resting his hands on his knees as he looked down at the patterns on the rug. Cheyenne detected the quaver in his father's voice as she bit her lip, wondering whether she should continue to pester him until he gave an answer. They had left in the middle of the night, after waking her up to tell the fifteen year old to watch her brother and sister.

Before he could continue, the house telephone rang and she jumped at the sound of its ringing. A smile momentarily crossed Cheyenne's face before she made a telephone gesture to Brock.

"It's for me!" She ran to answer the phone in the kitchen as Jake wandered down the stairs.

"Hey buddy," He stood up as his five year old rubbed his eyes.

"Where's Mommy?" He yawned, rubbing his eyes as he took careful strides down the carpeted stairs.

"Mommy didn't come say 'hi' to you?" He walked over before carrying the boy in his arms. Watching Jake shake his head no, Brock was filled with a bittersweet feeling as he carried his youngest son. As Jake put his little arms around his father, Brock heaved a sigh as he wondered what Reba was doing upstairs. For the first time in many years, he couldn't read Reba like he used to.

* * *

All Reba wanted to do was curl up in their bed but something magnetic drew her to the place she least wanted to be.

Suddenly, the empty room felt like an empty promise. Rays of sunlight hit the walls and floorboards, particles floating in the still air. Reba walked further in the room with her arms folded and lips pursed. Too quickly, she tugged at the strings at the ends of the windows, watching the drapes quickly drop and fill the room with darkness. The silence was suffocating, the sound of her footsteps making creaking noises was driving her crazy.

"Oh God," She stepped toward the only piece of furniture in the whole room, feeling particularly nauseous. It was a brand new rocking chair, the arm handles still glossed with plastic wrapping. Reba mindlessly rocked the chair back and forth with her hand before she walked around and sank into the dark green upholstered rocking chair.

She sat thinking about how quickly things had changed, and how quickly things will change. She wouldn't wake Brock up every day with a kiss and a request to move the baby's crib into the nursery. She would no longer be imagining holding a beautiful bouncing boy in her arms, wondering if he would look more like Brock or more like her. She glanced over to the right wall, neighboring Cheyenne and Kyra's room.

"Oh God." She murmured again, sinking lower into her seat as she placed one hand over her face.

Brock came in some while later, turning on the lights. He kissed her once, twice.

She merely grabbed on to his hand as he kneeled down beside her, looking so small in the rocking chair.

"Where are the kids?" She hoarsely whispered, as Brock studied her face.

"Don't worry. I ordered some take out," Brock said, before adding cautiously, "Reba, you gotta eat something."

"I can take care of myself," She snapped before her expression softened, confused at her own outburst.

"I'll be back soon." He patted her knee before he straightened himself up. When he had finally reached the doorway, he turned around once more and looked at his wife sadly. He wished he could hold her, protect her from pain. Yet at the same time, he was certain that something was repelling him away from her. No matter how many times he tempted this boundary, Brock was certain that the permanence of the barrier between them was only going to grow.

**A/N: Thanks so much for reading as usual!**


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